CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE BRIGHT MOONLIGHT and torches carried by the rustlers made following them back to their canyon hideout easy. The distant flames danced like fireflies traveling in single file. The purpose of watching Baggett’s men was no longer to determine what they were doing or even how they carried out their thefts and exchanges. Breckenridge and Pate simply wanted to learn the location of the outlaws’ hiding place.
They were convinced that the cattle thefts, dating back to the one outside Aberdene, were all the work of Baggett’s men.
As they rode through the night at a leisurely pace, Clay’s mind wandered. The journey, begun in anger and driven by a quest for revenge, had become something more. He thought about young Lonnie waiting back at Nester Callaway’s farm and wondered how he was dealing with the loss of his parents and what his future held. He thought of his own family, all now gone, and of Jennie Broder, like him mourning Cal’s death. And there was Madge, a strong, hardworking woman who was a virtual prisoner in a worn-out saloon in a dusty little town at the tail end of nowhere.
Pate broke the silence as day was about to break. The rustlers’ torches no longer lit the way. “Can’t be much farther,” he said. Even as he spoke, the distant riders began to disappear from the horizon. “Appears they’re riding down into the canyon.”
They stopped and dismounted to stretch their legs. “We’ve come far enough,” Clay said. “This is where they can be found.”
Jonesy scanned the horizon, seeing nothing but cacti, scrub brush, and blowing sand. “Ain’t much to look at, is it?”
ELI RAYBURN WAS seated at the end of the bar when Breckenridge and Pate returned to Tascosa. It was late afternoon and the evening customers were yet to arrive. “Glad to see you boys back,” he said. “The herd’s on its way out of town, so I’ve got tents available again if you’re interested.”
Madge’s only acknowledgment was to place two glasses of beer on the counter.
“Stars shining have a tendency to keep me awake,” Jonesy said, “so we’ll again be accepting your hospitality. Our horses would likely appreciate more comfortable accommodations as well.”
“I’ll see to it your tent is cleaned and ready and the stalls have fresh hay.” Rayburn finished his drink in one gulp. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you boys would be hanging around so long.”
“We’re hoping to have our business done shortly,” Clay said.
Only when the men rose to leave did Madge speak. “Mr. Breckenridge,” she said, “might I have a word?”
She pointed toward one of the tables generally reserved for poker games. “I’ve been doing considerable thinking about our conversation the other night,” she said. “I’ve got something that needs saying.”
Clay removed his hat and put it on the table, running his fingers along the brim. “If your intent is to persuade me to abandon my purpose,” he said, “you’ll be wasting your time. I came here with a job that needs doing.”
“Go home. Please. Go back and tend your farm. Forget about this awful place,” she said. “I fear you’re going to wind up dead yourself, trying to avenge the killing of another. You’re facing a fight that’s nowhere near fair. Unless I’m mistaken, all you’ve learned is that the person who claimed the life of your brother is likely a member of Ben Baggett’s lot. Without more specific knowledge, you’re looking at a fight with the whole bunch of them. They’re bad people, bad unlike any folks you’ve ever known. They’d kill a man without bothering to even know his name. And, if you were paying attention the day they came to town to bury Baggett’s boy, you saw there is a considerable number of them.”
“How many total you think there are in the canyon?”
“I can only guess, but from what I’ve seen come in here from time to time, I’d say at least fifteen, counting Baggett himself. You can’t kill the lot of them just to make sure you get the one who murdered your brother.”
For the first time, Madge noticed the darkness in Clay’s eyes.
“Why not?” he said.